


all our wants and wishes

by perennials



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, M/M, casual flirtation and shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: He does not, like most protagonists in badly written romance films, spend half an hour thinking of the optimal way to start a conversation. That’s not his style. Koutarou’s style is neon glow sticks and loudspeakers. Koutarou’s style isjust going for it.He goes for it.





	all our wants and wishes

Kuroo has hair that’s even more out-of-this-world than his. This is the first objective observation of the day, which Koutarou makes in his compulsory but useless nine a.m. Calculus lecture. Koutarou isn’t generally very good at being objective. Either he feels too much or not at all, and there are days when he oscillates between the two extremes so intensely that  _ he  _ gets tired of himself. Of being himself.

 

But there’s something about this guy, whose name he knows is Kuroo because Koutarou has seen him around on campus or heard of him or probably both, which startles an objective observation out of him. And then there are other things, which Koutarou is only now starting to notice now that they are sitting next to each other, instead of standing on opposite ends of a crowded, white-lit hallway. Other, less objective things.

 

Like: how his eyes are the softest shade of hazel Koutarou has probably ever seen in his life. The kind of color that makes him think of maple syrup, sonorous Saturday mornings, warm wind whistling through the open window. A comforting color.

 

Alternatively: the bow-curve of his lips, pink and plush and faintly curled upwards with amusement.

 

What is Kuroo from Calculus so amused about? Koutarou wants to know. Koutarou wants to know— everything. Everything about this guy.

 

The other thing Koutarou isn’t very good at is impulse control. It comes as part and parcel of the whole firecracker tied to a speeding race car thing he’s apparently had since he was born, and can be either a tragedy or massively entertaining, depending on who you ask. Akaashi stands by the former. Oikawa, for all he’s worth, brings little bags of resealable organic popcorn with him whenever he tags along with Koutarou. And his phone. Always his phone.

 

So anyway, because it’s a nine a.m. lecture and he slept at ass o’clock in the morning the night before and Kuroo fucking Tetsurou is wearing a denim jacket and seated like six inches to his left, Koutarou has to say something. He does not, like most protagonists in badly written romance films, spend half an hour thinking of the optimal way to start a conversation. That’s not his style. Koutarou’s style is neon glow sticks and loudspeakers. Koutarou’s style is  _ just going for it. _

 

He goes for it.

 

“Hey, I’m Bokuto,” he says when there’s a lull in the professor’s stream of consciousness talk, dropping his name right from the get-go like he hopes Kuroo will hang onto it with every inch of him. Like he hopes Kuroo is as remotely, realistically smitten as he is.

 

Kuroo starts very subtly, like he’s used to surprises and all the earthquake-tremors that tend to follow in their wake. The one eyebrow not hidden under his unruly hair shoots up. His smirk-smile stretches even wider.

 

An interesting reaction. Koutarou wants to know why, why, why— Koutarou wants to  _ know. _

 

“Hi Bokuto,” Kuroo replies breezily. “I like your hair.”

 

If there is one thing Koutarou can say he is good at, apart from inhaling fifty plates of sushi in one sitting at the sushi bar one train station away from his university, it is this. Reading people, in all their fidgety-fingered-dodgy-eyed-pink-faced glory. Reading people, because he loves the life of them, and he loves being with them, and he loves them.

 

So even though Kuroo keeps his chin nestled in the palm of his hand, and his attention seems to flicker only minutely from where it is squarely placed on the lecturer’s red tomato face, Koutarou can tell that he’s distracted. He is an expert at these things. He knows.

 

“Are you maybe free after this?” He goes on, race car with the firecrackers barreling past all the riot red lights on the road. Grins, wide and bright like a neon glow stick. Leans forward just a little, just a little into Kuroo’s space.

 

These six inches between them; shrinking.

 

Kuroo flashes him a tinted smile, maple syrup eyes glittering against the dull gray walls of the lecture theater. Kuroo never quite stops smiling; it is as disarming as it is charming.

 

“Well, I am not  _ maybe _ free. I  _ am _ free.”

 

Koutarou can play the Mad Hatter to his Cheshire Cat; he can do that. He will do that. Because Koutarou wants to know, and he wants to  _ know, _ and he wants. Above all, he wants.

 

“Is that a yes?” The figurative race car of his heart dodges traffic police like a fugitive.

 

A pause.

 

“Yes.”

 

Nine a.m. Calculus lecture, Monday morning, four inches apart: absolutely, objectively out of this world.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [talk to me](https://twitter.com/nikiforcvs)
> 
> twitter requests, twitter requests, and more twitter requests. so many twitter requests. my finals are in four weeks. i really like haikyuu. do you like haikyuu? yes. if you liked this? all kudos, comments, and marked books are deeply appreciated.
> 
> have a good one


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